


how dare you speak of grace

by withthekeyisking



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bondage, Bottom Jason Todd, Creampie, Dark Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, M/M, Prince Jason Todd, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Throne Sex, Top Dick Grayson, which is apparently already a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Commander Grayson and his Titans have taken control of Gotham Kingdom. Prince Jason Todd, the eldest son of King Bruce, was not expecting the path the man would take in order to legitimize his claim to the throne.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2020





	how dare you speak of grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daemoninwhite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemoninwhite/gifts).



> Merry Kinkmas and Happy New Year, Dae! A treat for you!
> 
> Title from _Broken Crown_ by Mumford & Sons

Jason hates the man before he even sets foot in Gotham.

He knows, _long_ before Commander Grayson shows up at their gates, that he _hates_ him.

The man is a criminal, a murderer, a thief, a _warmonger._ He leads his Titans across the lands, sowing destruction everywhere they go. He is a man without honor, a man who is the absolute antithesis of Bruce and his values and everything they stand for in Gotham.

He's a _pig,_ and Jason's opinion certainly doesn't change when Grayson set his sights on Gotham.

The Titans are, and have been for many years, a powerful force. Grayson has an army, sure, but everyone knows that's simply the icing on top. Everyone knows that he could probably accomplish everything he already has with just that loyal band of soldiers who follow him everywhere. That each of them are skilled in different ways, that they are all the best of the best of their fields, that Grayson brought them all together and now nothing can stop them.

So the rumors say, at least. Jason's never put much stock in rumors, but watching the horrors outside their walls, watching Grayson and his people get closer and closer, win battle after battle—he can't help but think that everything he's heard is true.

The Titans reach their gates at nightfall.

The siege lasts for six days, before they manage to find a secret way in and invade the city and the castle itself.

Everything is in chaos. There are soldiers everywhere, the sounds of bloodshed, screams ringing through the night. Jason wants to fight, wants to defend his home, but his first priority is his little brothers—

Not that either of them will listen to him, of course. Damian is only eleven and yet insists on raising a blade, using what both his parents taught him in order to fight back. And with Tim, Jason really has no ability to stop him, not when the younger boy is eighteen years old and a warrior in his own right. Jason can do _nothing_ to protect them, nothing but try his best to fight by their side, to watch their backs.

It's not enough.

The fighting is over by sunrise.

They weren't prepared, they grew accustomed to the way a normal battle works, to the way siege warfare tends to go. Gotham's walls are strong, their city prepared to last months against an invading force—they didn't expect a sneak attack. They didn't expect _anyone_ to be able to get inside without coming in the gates or trying to scale the walls.

They should've known better, really. They should've known better, because Grayson and his Titans aren't like anyone else. They don't play by the same rules. They always find a way.

It _burns_ Jason to realize they've underestimated their opponent, and their people now suffer for it.

It takes five men to finally take him down, and he does not go quietly, taking advantage of the fact that they seem to want him alive to fight tooth and nail, even after they've disarmed him and gotten him on the floor. He fights until he's completely spent, until they have his hands and feet bound and throw him in a cell.

Then, they leave him.

He sits there and he worries for what feels like a century. He worries about his brothers, his father, his people, his friends. Worries about what must be happening, if the Titans have truly taken command of Gotham. What is going to become of him and the others. How they might _possibly_ get out of this.

They drag him back out, after a while. They free his feet and allow him to walk with some measure of dignity, though he can still feel his face burning with humiliation at the fact that his hands are bound, his clothes torn and bloodied, a blade held to his side to keep him compliant in their hold.

He keeps his head held high nonetheless, because he is a prince of Gotham and a son of King Bruce, and he will not allow himself to be made to feel small by a group of _thugs._

The halls are dead silent, and decorated with blood and bodies. Jason recognizes each and every person they come across; each guard he's trained with, every servant who's brought him a meal or cleaned his room. It turns his stomach with horror, and he swallows the urge to vomit, horribly relieved when he doesn't see any of his family.

The doors of the throne room are wide open, and Jason's gut clenches when he sees that sitting atop the dais, lounging on Bruce's throne, is a man who can only be Commander Richard Grayson.

He's smaller than Jason was expecting. Not _small,_ but lean, not like the warriors that tend to get to the level of notoriety that Grayson has. He seems shorter than Jason as well, and Jason wants the opportunity to stand in front of him, to show that he's bulkier and taller and will not bow easily.

Not that Grayson's smaller stature makes him any less of a presence. He sits on Bruce's throne like he owns it, like he _belongs_ there. The silver armor he wears is dotted with red, a similarly stained pair of swords leaning casually against the armrest. There's a slash across his cheek, neatly cleaned. His black hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes gleam brightly in the rising light of the room, locking onto Jason and not moving an inch.

A slow, slow smirk crawls across the man's face as he watches Jason be pushed forward. He looks pleased. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Jason _hates_ him.

"Prince Jason," Grayson greets, inclining his head in a mockery of respect. There's something on his head, Jason realizes, and when he recognizes it as a coronet his blood boils; it isn't actually one from Gotham, so he didn't literally steal the crown from Bruce's head, but the fucking _audacity_ of this man to wear a _crown_ on Gotham's throne like he's the fucking _king_ —

Jason wants to rip it off of his head and shove it down his throat.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Grayson continues.

"Where is my family?" Jason demands. The guards that brought him let go and take a step back; close enough that they can grab him again if he makes any sudden moves, but far enough to give him the illusion of actually standing on his own.

"Your brothers gave my men quite the fight," Grayson compliments, not actually answering his question. "I'm rather impressed; for such a small boy, Prince Damian certainly fought as well as men twice his size."

"As well as and better," Jason snaps, and Grayson's lips tick up a little further. "Now _where are they?"_

Looking amused, Grayson says, "They were in the cells to either side of yours, actually. They're fine; a little bloody and bruised, but considering they were fighting a _war_ I can't imagine you expect them to be in any better condition."

Jason tries to not let his full-bodied relief show on his face, keeping it contained in front of so many enemies. Tim and Damian are okay, then. Who knows how long it'll stay that way, but for now they're _okay._ That means there's still a chance. Jason can try to get them out of here, somehow. As long as they're alive and in one piece, there's a chance.

"And my father?"

Grayson's expression turns slightly condescending. "Prince," he says, tone dripping with mock sympathy, "did you really think the king I'm dethroning would survive very long once we were in?"

Jason's chest goes tight, nausea churning in his gut. Bruce is dead. _Bruce_ is _dead._ That shouldn't even be possible. Bruce is _Bruce,_ he can't be killed, he simply can't be.

Jason bares his teeth, rage rising in him. This smug, egotistical _bastard_ is going to pay for everything he's done to Gotham and his family and more. Jason's going to make him regret the day he ever decided to come here. He'll make his death _slow_ and _painful,_ and when Jason finally deals the last blow it will be considered a _mercy._

"You're a monster," he snarls, jerking towards the dais. He wants to wrap his hands around the asshole's throat.

The soldiers, of course, catch him immediately, tugging him back into place and holding onto him firmly. The whole affair only succeeds in making Grayson's smirk wider.

"You're going to want to save that word for later," Grayson advises knowingly, "because, _My Prince,_ I'm only just getting started."

"And what the _fuck_ do you mean by that?"

Grayson leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs and loosely folding his fingers together. Jason can't help but look at the blood on his armor—is it Bruce's blood? Is this _monster_ sitting in front of him wearing the blood of his father?

"We've taken control of Gotham," Grayson tells him. His tone is serious, but his eyes are bright. "Your castle is ours, your city is ours, your lands are ours. Your brothers are imprisoned. The king is dead, long live the king."

"You aren't our king!" Jason growls, incensed.

Grayson simply smirks. "Oh, but I am. This is the way the world works now, Prince Jason, and going forward you have the opportunity to make things _easier_ for yourself and your brothers, or much, _much_ harder."

Jason almost laughs. He doesn't know the specifics of what the man wants, but he understands the direction in which this is going. Grayson wants something from him that only Jason can provide, something important about Gotham, and he thinks he can _bribe_ Jason to his side with the promise of a bit of an easier stay.

He clearly knows nothing about Jason, if he thinks for a _second_ that would work. Nor would it work on his brothers, either. They'd be just as derisive as Jason is now towards an offer like that. And they'd be furious and horrified if Jason even for a _moment_ considered it.

Yeah, not a chance in hell.

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Jason says, sneering. "I don't give a shit about whatever you want to offer me, or whatever it is you want. I will _never_ give you anything. You can burn in the furthest reaches of Hell."

Grayson smiles. On anyone else, Jason would call the expression _charming._ But here and now, he just sees a beast who has come for their blood.

"You're going to want to reconsider," Grayson says, and there's something about the coiled way he's sitting that makes Jason's heart speed up, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight. "Because you have no idea what's in store if you say no."

Jason raises his chin, trying to call upon all of the lessons Bruce has forced him to sit through on how to be a proper prince. "The answer is _no."_

Grayson simply looks at him for a long moment, examining. He doesn't seem upset by Jason's refusal, in fact there's a new light in his eyes that wasn't there before, like somehow Jason saying no is... _exciting._ It makes Jason feel off-balance, just a tad. He doesn't know what to expect from here on—survivors of the other places Grayson has attacked have never truly put words to what happened while he was there.

The man rises to his feet fluidly, a certain level of precision to the move that has Jason's eyes narrowing. This truly is a trained, accomplished warrior. And Jason in his current state is barely a threat.

"Bring him forward," Grayson commands, and the soldiers don't hesitate to do so, forcing Jason across the room until they stand just a few feet away from Grayson.

He _is_ shorter and leaner than Jason, but Jason can't find it in himself to feel comforted by that, not when Grayson is looking at him with something sharp and dark in his blue eyes. Not when the man so clearly has control of the entire room, including him.

Jason can feel all their eyes, Grayson's men and women. His _Titans._ He can tell which they are, how different their armor is from the other soldiers, how different the way they _hold_ themselves is from everyone else. All the best in their fields. All warriors, murderers, thieves, _monsters._ Grayson's loyal pack of dogs, watching and waiting for his next command.

"One more chance," Grayson says softly, tilting his head. "One last chance to agree to let me make your life easier, Jason. If not—well, we're going to do things my way."

There is something like fear inside of Jason, because he can tell that the man means it. That whatever's about to happen, it's going to be bad. But he _won't_ help the man who took over his country and killed his father. He'd rather die.

Jason spits on the ground in front of him, just narrowly missing Grayson's boots.

Grayson glances down at the ground, and smiles.

The fist is connecting with Jason's stomach before he even sees Grayson's arm move, and he wheezes, doubling over from the force of the hit. He swings his bound hands up, aiming for Grayson's chin, but the man catches them almost effortlessly, grabbing hold of the chains and yanking Jason forward, making him stumble, still struggling to catch his breath.

Whatever breath he _had_ managed to catch whooshes out of him again when Grayson slams him into the armrest of the throne, bending him over it and pressing his face into the seat.

Jason thrashes against the hold, kicking back at Grayson, but the angle is all wrong, and Grayson effectively locks his arms in place by producing a dagger and shoving the blade through one of the links of the chain and into the seat below, trapping Jason's hands in place, and subsequently Jason in the bent-over position.

"Let me go!" Jason snarls furiously, snapping his head back in an attempt to headbutt Grayson. He feels a brief brush of contact, enough that he thinks it must've stung, but Grayson pulls back before any real damage can be done to his stupid face.

One of Grayson's hands winds through Jason's hair and yanks hard enough to drag a shout out of Jason, forcing his head down, smushing his face against the seat cushion.

"There now," Grayson says, the slightest hint of breathlessness to his pleased voice, "all settled, huh?"

"What the _fuck_ are you playing at?"

Grayson chuckles lowly. He drapes himself against Jason's back, his breath washing across the skin of his neck as his head dips low, enough that Jason can see the curve of his wicked smile out of the corner of his eye.

"You refused to play along," Grayson tells him, tone eerily gentle. "I would've taken my time with you, really. Would've let you set something of your own pace, as long as you played your role in public. I _can_ be a gentleman, after all. But you said no, Prince Jason. You refused. So what happens now...that's on you."

And then Grayson's free hand is reaching between the armrest and Jason's body and undoing Jason's trousers.

Jason is stunned still for a moment. Because—no. _No._ There's just no way. Grayson couldn't _possibly_ mean to—he can't _actually_ be trying to—

"Let go of me!" Jason yells, thrashing, trying to throw Grayson off of him, make him stop. But it does absolutely nothing, Jason completely trapped, and Grayson works his trousers down his legs until they rest uselessly around his ankles.

Grayson hums, an awful, pleased noise. He releases Jason's hair, and Jason jumps when he feels two hands land on his ass, squeezing.

"No," Jason says. _"No!"_

Grayson chuckles. "That's the word that got you into this mess in the first place, remember? Hasn't seemed to do you any good so far..."

There's suddenly a blade sliding up his back, bringing with it a faint sting as it nicks skin, cutting right through the material of his night shirt and ripping it off.

"You can't do this!" Jason says desperately, panic beginning to rise. "You—you _can't—"_

"I can," Grayson purrs, hands caressing his ass and thighs, briefly reaching forward to fondle Jason's cock and make him jump. "Gotham and everything and everyone inside of it is _mine_ now, Prince, and that includes _you._ I tried to be nice, but you denied my olive branch. So now here we are. Oh well."

"Why the _fuck_ are you even—?"

He cuts off with a gasp as a finger pushes inside of him. It's oil-slicked, which Jason can't even find it in himself to be shocked by because the horror of the situation is just overwhelming, how completely _helpless_ he is right now, unable to do _anything_ to stop this monster from taking what he wants from him.

"Because you're a prince of Gotham," Grayson murmurs, almost _distractedly,_ as he begins to slowly slide his finger in and out. It's torturous. Jason wants it gone. "The eldest, in fact. The heir. A union between us helps legitimize my claim to the throne."

"You have no claim!" Jason shouts, twisting, trying to fight. He hates that Grayson doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered by his struggling, continuing to move his finger almost painfully slowly, like he's simply _experimenting._

"I have your kingdom, I killed your king, and now I'll have you," Grayson muses. "I don't know, sounds like a pretty good claim to me. Roy? Thoughts?"

Jason jolts at the reminder of their audience, and his face burns with humiliation and shame, horrified that there are other people here to witness this. Thankful that at the very least neither of his brothers are present.

"Sounds good to me," a voice replies, blasé and uncaring. "You have a crown, a throne, a kingdom, a prince—isn't that all a king is?"

There's a mocking edge to his voice by the time he's done speaking, and Jason hates the man for it, hates that there are so many horrible people who are not only going to stand back and _watch,_ but also seem perfectly okay with what their leader intends to do.

Grayson removes his finger and wipes it off on Jason's hip, the sensation almost making Jason gag. And then there's something larger pressing at his entrance, and Grayson's hand is returning to his hair and pressing his face into the cushion—

"No, no, no," Jason gasps. "No, don't—don't do this! Stop!"

"Don't worry, Your Highness," Grayson says, hand clenching, "after this, you'll be mine, and I treat my things well. Once they learn to behave, of course."

He forces himself in inch by agonizing inch, splitting Jason open and dragging a ragged cry out of him. It _burns,_ makes him feel like he's on fire, like he's being ripped to shreds. The oil Grayson has apparently coated his cock with helps a little but it's still far too much far too fast and Jason can't breathe he's going to be sick he's going to—

Tears drip down onto the cushion beneath him as Grayson begins to fuck in and out, the man setting a brutal pace that leaves Jason gasping for breath, his hips hitting the armrest of the throne painfully on every thrust.

It hurts. Everything about it hurts, from the grip on his hair to the throne digging into him to the horrible intensity of Grayson inside of him—it is all so unbelievably _awful_ and Jason wishes he could stop the tears from falling but they do so against his wishes anyway, dripping down his face without a care for what Jason wants.

Grayson grabs his left thigh and yanks his leg up, forcing his knee onto the armrest and putting him on display. Jason whines as the new position allows Grayson to fuck deeper, and the man's fingers dig in to the sensitive skin of his thigh at the noise, a rough sound of pleasure escaping him.

He wants this to end he wants this to end fucking god how is it not ending already—

"You're so tight," Grayson hisses. "Has anyone ever fucked you, Prince? Have you ever had anyone _take_ you?"

No, he hasn't. He's been with a woman, and they... _experimented_ a little, but he's never had anything bigger than a pair of fingers inside of him before. Certainly never an _actual_ —

This is his first time. And this horrible, awful _monster_ stole it, like he steals everything else.

Grayson's hand in his hair tightens brutally, and it forces a pained sound out of Jason. By this point, some of his hair has definitely been pulled out at the roots.

"Answer me," Grayson orders.

"No," Jason grits out.

"'No' you won't answer or 'no' you've never had anyone _fuck_ you like you're made to be fucked?"

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, wishing for everything to stop, to go away. He wants his father to burst through the doors and save him, not as dead as previously believed. He wants the monster to be struck down, for them to reclaim their kingdom.

He wants to slap his younger self for not shelving his pride and playing along with Grayson's request. He wouldn't be in this situation, if he had. He could've _used_ it, could've found a way to use Grayson's favor to take back control. Or, at the very least, prevent _this_ from happening.

"No," Jason says, hating the way his voice shakes as Grayson continues to use him, taking what he wants from Jason's body like he's nothing more than a convenient toy, "I've never had anyone do this before."

Grayson makes a pleased sound, and then leans over him, pressing a delicate kiss to his bared neck. Against his skin he says, "Then I suppose I'm _honored,_ Your Highness. I'm going to be your first and your last."

No, Jason refuses to let that be the case. They'll get out of this mess, they _have_ to. Cassandra and Stephanie are in Metropolis, King Clark is a strong ally—people will come to their defense, he's sure of it. They can...they'll—they'll defeat Grayson and his Titans and army. They _will._ Just because no one's done it before doesn't mean it can't be done. This won't be forever. Grayson won't win.

"With you at my side," Grayson breathes, "no one will stop us. You'll learn to like it, Highness. You're a fighter, aren't you? The Titans will be your home. And every night you'll share my bed."

No, that won't happen. Jason won't get along with a group of despicable humans. And he'd rather die than spend his life warming Commander Grayson's bed.

"You won't win," Jason says, voice strangled. "You won't—this won't—"

Grayson snaps his hips forward roughly, making Jason cut off with a cry. He can barely breathe under the onslaught, can barely _think_ with this _beast_ over him, _inside_ of him—

"I've already _won,_ Prince," Grayson tells him, nothing but delight in his tone. "Gotham is _mine,_ and so. Are. _You."_

His pace picks up, punching breathless noises out of Jason until his movements become more frantic, more desperate, until finally—

Jason has to press his lips into a thin line, refusing to vomit as the disgusting, warm wetness fills him, Grayson's release coating his insides and claiming him in the most base and primal of ways.

Grayson stays where he is for a minute, layered over Jason's back, face pressed into the curve of his neck, hands still just as bruising where they hold him down. And Jason tries to breathe, tries to keep it together, to not break down. He's Jason, Prince of Gotham. He can do this. He can handle this.

When Grayson finally pulls out, letting his leg drop back down to the floor as well, Jason can feel his cum slowly slide out of his ass and down his thighs. It makes him feel disgusting, dirty, _used._ It makes him all too aware of all the eyes on him, of all the people who have borne witness to his humiliation.

Grayson grips the back of the throne and uses it to lift himself over the armrest. He places his feet delicately between the back and Jason's body, and then in a truly impressive feat somehow manages to slide himself down until he's sitting regularly in the throne, with Jason still trapped in place because of the chain, now forcibly folded over Grayson's lap.

The man's grip is firm but not painful when he takes Jason's face in hand and tilts his head up to meet his gaze.

Grayson's eyes are bright, his cheek flushed, his smirk extremely self-satisfied. He swipes his thumb across Jason's cheek, catching on some of the tears, and then lifts his thumb to his mouth, humming with pleasure as he sucks on it.

There's nothing but cold disgust in Jason's gut. He closes his eyes and looks away, unable to stomach it any longer.

"You're a monster," Jason says hoarsely, repeating his words from earlier, and Grayson laughs, loud and joyous.

 _"Now_ you get it," he says, something almost _fond_ in his tone, and then pets his head like one might a dog. "Now why don't you just sit there and look pretty? I have some important matters to attend to, you understand—running a kingdom is tough work."


End file.
